Narcissa
by Republic-Of-Heaven
Summary: A tale of Lucius and the woman he loves. Chapter 3 is up
1. Chapter I

**Disclaimer:** I don't own even Harry Potter's shoelaces.

I gaze at her across the crowded room.

Members of eminent pure-blood families drift aimlessly about the room in conversation.

It is my seventeenth birthday.

She sits with her head in her hands, her eyes narrowed in thought. I wonder if she thinks of me, of if I am just another wealthy young man from a good family to be spoken to once, and then ignored.

Nott is coming towards her, swaggering slightly. They speak for a moment, then he takes her hand and leads her out onto the dance floor.

My Father is coming my way. I try to remain inconspicuous, but he has spotted me.

"Lucius," he says, his great voice booming. "I am surprised not to see you dancing. This celebration is all for you after all." It would be useless to explain that the only one I wish to dance with seems to have forgotten my existence, so I keep silent. He soon grows tired of me and moves on.

They tell me she like ice, cannot get close to anyone. I do not care.

They tell me there was some scandal involving her sister. It is not her sister who interests me.

They say she is dangerous.

But I am dangerous too.


	2. Chapter II

_Well, here is the next chapter! Thanks to all my reviewers so far (secretshipper, tic tac toe 03, Mt Annapurna the Small and LazyCatfish27)_

_Now, to the story._

_Narcissa's pov:_

Winter. It is the season I love, the only time of the year I feel truly at home. My cousin Sirius says that this is because we are just as icy as each other, winter and I. When that happens, I tend to glare at him, but he just laughs.

Lucius Malfoy is looking my way again. He may be rich and handsome, and from a good family, but I hate him. The way he leers at me is enough to put anyone off.

My friend Angelica Lestrange is in love with him. Whenever she gets to a 'good' bit in one of her dreadful books she sighs, and says in a wistful little voice that she wishes it were her and Malfoy behaving so.

By 'dreadful' in regard to her books, I mean overly concerned with physical love. I actually like that sort of fiction, but would die if anybody knew. I mean, I am usually the one sneering at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff girls for reading them. (The Ravenclaws never read anything but _A Short Guide to the History of Transfiguration. _And, by short, I am talking about four long volumes.)

Really, Angelica is simply _obsessed _with Malfoy. She has even written 'Mrs. Angelica Malfoy' all over her History of Magic textbook.

I used to hope this madness would fade, but ever since Malfoy spoke to her after Charms one day, she has become even crazier.

I know very well why Malfoy was talking to her. He wanted to get closer to me. I mean, flicking one's hair behind the ears and glancing constantly at the woman one is attracted to is a bit obvious.

Just be sure that it will not be Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy that I write on my textbooks, in this life at least.

Mrs. Narcissa Nott, perhaps?

_As always, reviews keep me going._

_ROH_


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter 3 is up! Enjoy if you love it, endure if you hate it. Thanks to all my reviewers so far.**

I have made my decision.

I will get up, walk across this never-ending room, and ask her to dance. That should not be too difficult, should it?

I stand, feeling my palms grow damp with sweat. It must be the heat, no Malfoy is ever frightened.

She is looking at me through her eyelashes slightly flirtatiously, but her disapproval is what I notice the most.

It is surprising that she is sitting on the sidelines so often. She is graceful, confident; so why do more men not ask her to dance?

Robert Parkinson has said many times that there is something different about her, something strange. I know not what it is, but I mean to find out.

Checking no-one is watching me, I saunter over so I am directly in front of her. I could reach out and stroke her cheek if she would let me.

"May I have this dance, Miss Black?" I somehow manage to say, trying to inject an air of casual indifference into my voice.

She sighs, fiddling with the folds of her dress robe.

"Seeing as my sister is present, you should address me as Miss Narcissa, Mr Malfoy." Her voice is dripping with acid.

"I thought you had two sisters," I murmur in confusion.

She stands abruptly, knocking my outstretched hand aside.

"I cannot imagine why you should think that, Mr Malfoy," she retorts, sweeping regally out of the room.

Ah. Now I remember. Her sister Andromeda ran away with some Mudblood. No wonder the family has disowned her. I would do the same if any of my family disgraced the name of the Malfoys by tainting our blood. The very thought of muggle and Malfoy together sickens me.

I wish she would return my feelings. Sometimes I catch her looking at me in such a way that I hope, hope so much, that the look of love in her eyes is not merely wishful thinking on my part.

Sometimes I hate her for occupying my thoughts so often.

Yet sometimes I love her, for I know that the frozen exterior she presents to the world will one day reveal an angel.

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**Thanks, **

**R.**


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